


Eggs Without Salt

by maniacalmole



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 20:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5942413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maniacalmole/pseuds/maniacalmole





	Eggs Without Salt

                AJ Crowley woke up in his bed, cold. He had kicked the sheets off of him, and they were tangled around his legs. He was lying on his stomach, one arm crushed underneath him, the other stretched out across the rest of the bed. He stared at it, and his open hand, looking like it was reaching for something.

                He’d blown it all, this time.

                With a groan, he pulled in his arm and used it to push himself up, just enough so he could turn his head and look around the room. Definitely empty. Just white walls and cold white sheets. On the bedside table there was only one pair of glasses, and they were dark. Crowley grimaced. He grabbed the sunglasses and crammed them onto his face, then dropped himself onto his stomach again, letting out a sigh that turned into a low hiss.

                Aziraphale was definitely gone, then.

Humans had invented a story about a little boy who cried ‘Wolf’. The demon wished he had never heard it. How many times had he gotten the angel to do something under false pretenses? It was in his job description to always have an ulterior motive. He couldn’t even blame him for not trusting the good intentions of a demon. Good intentions weren’t usually allowed.

                Crowley’d told him he wasn’t doing sleep the right way. Aziraphale’s bed was a small twin shoved into the corner of the back room of his bookstore, which was also mostly packed with books and collectibles. The mattress was decades old; it could hardly even qualify as a mattress by the modern era’s definition. The angel had discovered sleep but preferred using his nights for reorganizing his collections of old combs and vintage watches. _But you can’t call_ that _sleep_ , Crowley had told him, the day before. _Not on_ that _old thing. You need something with space to spread out. Memory foam mattress, sheets with a high thread-count. Come on, I’ll_ show _you. Humans have invented sleep with style._

                Ulterior motives. Aziraphale was not stupid. He must have seen through it. He had probably woken up, realized Crowley had tricked him, and flown the coop first thing. Before Crowley would have the chance to tell him _why_ he had wanted so badly to trick him into staying over.

Aziraphale had waited until the morning, though. That was what Crowley did not understand. Last night, he had stayed. Crowley had not exactly given him ‘space to spread out’, but the angel had gone to sleep, anyway. Close to him, with one hand in his hair. Crowley could still remember the feeling of the atrocious beige sweater against his face, rough and scratchy. He had never slept so well.

                Now, he felt the sunglasses digging into the side of his face and brow. He could not be bothered to move.

                The worst of it was….The worst was, that he had not done it that way this time. He had started out edging around what he really wanted, tempting instead of just asking, the way he always did. When he had gotten Aziraphale to his flat, though…he had really told him everything.

                _He just wanted him nearby. A bit nearer than nearby, if that wasn’t too much. He enjoyed spending time with him. All the time. He just wished he was there more often than he was._

                He had thought he’d understood, that the angel had known he meant it. But now…

                A sound came from the kitchen.

                Crowley pushed himself up instantly. His glasses fell off his face as he moved into a sitting position. He listened.

                There was another clanging noise. It was followed by more sounds of metal hitting granite countertops. Slowly, Crowley slid off the end of the bed and walked to the door. The glasses remained sitting on the stark white sheets.

                Crowley walked into the kitchen. Every pot and pan he owned was spread out across the counters, along with a lot of flour, which was odd, because he smelled eggs. Standing with his back facing the demon, some of the flour stuck in his curly hair and all over his sweater, was Aziraphale.

                Crowley watched him wordlessly for a while. The angel seemed to be having trouble with the stove. At last he got it working, and he turned to get one of the pans. When he did so, he spotted Crowley. He gave him a smile.

                “Ah, there you are.” He grabbed the pan and started shuffling the others about, creating another floury dust-cloud. “Tell me, how do you like your eggs? As soon as I find the salt….” He found it at last and held it up with a triumphant grin. “Aha!” He looked back at Crowley.

                Crowley was staring at him with his mouth slightly open. Aziraphale gave him a quizzical look, adjusting his reading glasses.

                “Now, I know you _used_ to swallow them whole—“ He turned back to the stovetop. “But that was millennia ago, and I had rather figured your tastes would have changed, somewhat.”

                Carefully, Crowley took a seat at one of the stools by the counter. Aziraphale looked at him over his shoulder. He seemed to be reading him. He put on a gentle expression that was somewhere between a smile of amusement and a frown.

                “Now, really, my dear,” he said. Crowley met his eye. He stared back at him for a few seconds.

                “Over-easy.”

                Aziraphale smirked and turned back to the stove. “I suppose I can’t very well ask you to say your ‘please’s and ‘thank you’s, can I?” Despite his expression, his voice sounded cheerful. Almost affectionate.

                Crowley just pulled himself closer, rested one arm on the counter, and smiled.


End file.
